The Long, Dark Teatime of the Soul
by Mountain Bluebird
Summary: Changed from Hear Me Howl. The long awaited sequel to The Bad Beginning: the continuing story of Lupin, from the First Order to Sirius's love life, to 3rd year. Rated for death, gore maybe, and some language.
1. Lunch

**A/N: This isn't the most exciting chapter, but you have to start somewhere...**

**Hear Me Howl**

**I**

**Lunch**

I took one last look at the castle and apparated. I followed Dumbledore's wake and appeared in front of a door. It was a yellow door in the wall of a red brick house. The house was very large and well-kept, but definitely old. Many of the windows on the upper floors were shuttered with yellow shutters. There were four chimneys, and there was an orchard with a barn and vegetable garden. A few pretty golden chickens and a bedraggled peacock pecked among the apple trees, and a fat tabby cat was sprawled on the doormat. There were crickets chirping everywhere, giving the house a sleepy feel, as if nothing had changed in centuries.

"This is the headquarters?" I asked quietly.

"Yes. We are in a village outside York. Its name," Dumbledore smiled gently, "is insignificant. Nobody knows what it is." He nudged the cat and it opened an eye. "Excuse me, Ned." Ned shut the eye dismissively, and Dumbledore knocked.

A woman even taller than Dumbledore opened the door. Her skin was as black as anything black you can think of, and her hair was in tight and tiny braids. She smiled a stunning smile when she saw Dumbledore—stunning, because it was huge and very white in her big, black face. "It's wonderful to have you back, Professor!" she said musically.

"It's good to see you too, Leenie." He gave her a polite hug, then stood aside so that she could see me. "This is Remus Lupin, I mentioned him in my last letter. Remus, this is Marlene McKinnon, owner of the headquarters, commonly known as Leenie."

Leenie shook my hand, still smiling her huge smile. Her hands were huge like the rest of her. "So he knows everything?"

"Within reason. Have we arrived in time for lunch?"

Leenie laughed. "I expected that, Professor. Come in. Frank!" she shouted. There was a pause. "Frank Longbottom, where are you?" I stepped over the cat and into the house. I shut the door behind me.

A man, apparently a few years older than I, slid down the banister. He was dressed in jeans and a Celestina Warbeck T-shirt, and he looked a bit like James. He was bigger. "What?" he drawled. I realized I knew him—he was James's cousin. He had been four years ahead of the Marauders in school, and had been Head Boy in our third year.

"Show Remus to his room, then get him down to lunch. He looks half starved."

I smiled glumly. "I always look like this."

"Get him down to lunch. Shoo!" Frank levitated my trunk and went upstairs. I followed. The trunk kept bumping the walls because it was a narrow spiral staircase. Frank walked with his tongue sticking out in concentration.

"Be quiet," he muttered when we reached the second floor. It was a narrow balcony over the entryway with a lot of doors opening off it. The far end was another staircase. "Doc's asleep."

"Who's Doc?"

"Caradoc Dearborn. He and Leenie have got something going, but they don't like anyone to talk about it. Bit immature, really. But Doc had a late shift last night, and he's sleeping it off." Frank looked at me sternly. "_Never_ wake Doc up when he's sleeping."

I grinned. "What happens?"

"Shouting, flying objects that aren't designed to fly, jinxes when he's really tired. You're up another floor. We have a lot of people living in these days."

"Who?"

"Phoo….There's Leenie, this is her place, Doc for no good reasons, me most of the time because I like it, Emmeline Vance, she's Leenie's best friend, Dedalus Diggle and Mad-Eye Moody when they get in trouble—"

"Moody? The auror?"

"Yeah, him, Dorcas Meadowes—she's an auror and just as busy as Mad-Eye, but she's a girl so she doesn't get as much credit—and Benjy Fenwick because he's really poor; and Lizzie Buchanan, she's hiding from the Death Eaters because they know who she is. That's…." He counted on his fingers as we climbed another narrow spiral staircase to the third floor. "Nine, plus you. Ten people, and so far we have enough bedrooms. This one's yours." He opened the door. There was a small room with a bed, a chair, a desk, and a big, open window. A branch of a chestnut tree was growing through the window. The room was painted the color of a robin's egg.

"Sorry about the tree," Frank said. "You could cut it if it bothers you, but I think it makes a good hanger." There was a silence. We both had our hands shoved deep in our pockets. My trunk fell onto the bed with a flump and a creak, and the grandfather clock in the hall ticked. A lark sang in the chestnut tree.

"See you at lunch, I guess," Frank said. "It's always good, here." He left, almost shutting the door behind him. I moved my trunk under the window and put my wand on top of it. I looked out at the orchard, of which my window had an excellent view, then went downstairs.

There were half a dozen people sitting around the large and shiny dining room table. On the table was a vase of daisies, some opened bottles of butterbeer, a glass of firewhisky, a cup of green tea, and several pairs of feet. Dumbledore was sitting in the corner with Moody and talking seriously about someone named Karkaroff.

"That was quick," Frank commented. "Sit, and I'll do the intros." I sat next to him, and a butterbeer landed in front of me. I couldn't tell who to thank. "So, everyone, this is Remus Lupin. Lupin, this is Emmeline Vance—Emmy—" he indicated the tall, dark woman on my left with the green tea. I couldn't imagine calling her Emmy. "And Benjy Fenwick—" a tiny, nervous-looking man in his fifties, "Dorcas Meadowes—" a severe woman with iron gray hair and stern wrinkles on her face, "and Lizzie Buchanan." Lizzie was a little wisp of a woman with a sinuous, silvery-blond ponytail that twisted down the back of her robes. I felt sad as I looked at her. She looked too young and fragile for Voldemort to be chasing her.

"So…" Emmeline Vance said. "Where are you from?"

"Lincoln. You?"

"I'm a Londoner born and bred. A lot of us live there, because most of us work in the Ministry."

"How many of 'us' are there?" I asked.

"It varies," said Benjy Fenwick. "Between twenty and thirty members, I'd say."

"People drop out, and there was your parents…."

"They won't be the last," Lizzie Buchanan said darkly. Her voice was strong and clear, as if she were accustomed to talking to deaf people.

"And we don't think we ever know everyone in the Order," Emmeline Vance added. "Dumbledore knows, I'm sure, and maybe a few others, but if we don't know, we can't tell. We don't know of any spies in the Dark side, and I'm sure we have them, but if we don't know, we won't tell under torture."

"Torture?" I asked sharply. "Is that…likely?"

Lizzie nodded grimly. "I was. So was Benjy, and I wouldn't be surprised if they juiced your parents before they killed them." She tossed back what remained of her firewhisky and balanced the glass on her head.

"Lizzie, that was a horrible thing to say," Emmeline scolded. "Look at him! You've really scared him."

"No, no, I'm fine." I was just trying not to imagine what a Cruciatus curse looked like on something bigger than the rat the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had used. I pinched my throat and took a sip of butterbeer. My voice had come out higher than I liked it to.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Lizzie said. She tipped her head forward and the glass fell into her lap.

"It's fine, really. I need to know these things."

"That's right as hell."

I blinked. "So why are you hiding from the Death Eaters? How did they find you?"

She glared at Frank before telling me. "It was a stupid move on my part. I mentioned this to my brother, and my brother is a bit loose with his tongue. He works with me in the magical gossip center of England, the Ministry. You can find anyone there. Criminals, aurors, Death Eaters, a lot of us. The Death Eaters tracked me down a couple weeks ago in my apartment. They tortured me for information—they didn't get any—until I managed to toss a jinx at one of them and apparate here. I know they're watching me, so I'm stuck. I can't go back to my apartment, I can't go to work." She slammed her glass on the table. "All because my brother blabbed."

"What did you do at the Ministry?"

"Trained security trolls."

I blinked again. Frank grinned at me—he knew how surprised I was.

"I miss them," Lizzie sighed. "They have a certain logic—all problems are solved by banging someone on the head with a club." She banged her hand on the table. "Excuse me, I have to go outside and scream." Lizzie left hastily. There was a silence. Dumbledore and Moody were still whispering.

"Was it something I said?" I muttered.

"No, Remus," Dorcas Meadowes said briskly. "She was a very active woman before the Death Eaters found her—nerves of steel, went running every day, chased trolls around with a whip in one hand and a wand in the other. Hiding doesn't suit her. She has to go outside sometimes and kick things. And she's been drinking more than is good for her."

Leenie came in with a pot of something that smelled good. There was a wild scream from outside, then someone on the second floor began to shout.

"Doc's up," Leenie said. Frank laughed. A shouting match started outside. "It'll be good for her," Leenie observed as she served the thick soup. It had a lot of carrots, and big chunks of meat that fell apart on the ladle. "Lizzie hasn't been able to yell at a troll in weeks." There was a suppressed laugh passed around the table, and the headmaster and auror pulled up their chairs. Nobody said anything more. The silence was absolute except for the shouting match—even the crickets were quiet. I sensed that most of the meals here were quiet affairs, and they would not make an exception for a guest.

A big Irishman clumped into the dining room muttering nastily. He served himself some soup and sat next to Leenie. He was big, as I have said, but it is worth saying twice. He had rust-red hair, freckles, and blue eyes with bags of sleep under them. He was wearing rumpled robes, and his hair looked like the hedge of an abandoned house. Nearly five minutes passed, then he looked up and saw me with apparent alarm.

"Who the hell are you?" His right hand had disappeared under the table, to grab his wand, I was sure.

"He's a guest, Doc," Leenie said soothingly. "Moody didn't have a problem with him, why should you?"

"I'm Remus Lupin."

"Caradoc Dearborn." He reached up as if to touch a hat, but there was none there. He patted his pockets and pulled out a battered green tam o' shanter, which he crammed on his head.

Lizzie came back inside. Here hair had mostly come out of its ponytail, and there was blood on her knuckles. Nobody said a word. This was the point at which I decided that it would be a long two weeks until I could move to my own apartment.


	2. The Trial

_**II**_

_**My Trial**_

Later that afternoon I was playing chess against Lizzie and winning. This was surprising. I am no good at chess. Dorcas Meadowes, Moody, Frank and Leenie had gone to work, and everyone that had stayed here was napping. I wasn't sure what Dumbledore was doing—he was sitting in an overstuffed armchair staring at a book. He had not turned the page in over an hour and a half. The house seemed frozen in time, the crickets, the sun, and our chess match the only signs that time was still passing.

Emmeline Vance came downstairs carrying a letter. "Has anyone got an owl?" she asked. Her voice was quiet, as if she was afraid to disturb the afternoon silence. "Mine's elsewhere, but Dumbledore wanted me to get this out today." She glanced at me. "It's the notice about the conference in your honor, Remus."

"I haven't got an owl," I said. "I should get one…."

"You should," Lizzie agreed. "Doc's is in the barn, I think. You could borrow it." Emmeline nodded and started toward the kitchen door. "Hey—is Dumbledore asleep?"

She went to his chair and looked. She waved her hand in front of him. "I think he's daydreaming very hard." Emmy went outside, and I moved my pawn.

"Do you think I'll make it?" I asked Lizzie.

She looked sharply at me. "Do you think you will?"

I stared out the window. There was a caterpillar crawling on it. "I don't know. I'm a—well there's something—"

"We all know you're a werewolf, Remus. Dumbledore told us. It's a good thing. Well, it is if you're in the Order, I imagine."

"How could it possibly be a good thing?" I said hollowly.

"If we have you, we could have more. The werewolves' loyalties are going to come into question sooner or later. If we have you, we have someone who can speak to them on their own terms." She paused. "Voldemort would really like to have you and your kind on his side. With werewolves on his side, he could add a whole new facet to his terrorizing scheme. That's why they wanted me, Hagrid, and Emmy. I know trolls, Hagrid's a half-giant with a heart of gold, and Emmy works at the Goblin Liaisons. All of those are potential scale-tippers. Particularly the goblins because they run the banks."

"I never thought about that."

"You should have." Each of us made a move before she asked, "Do you happen to know any other werewolves?"

"Well, I know _of _one…but I'd say we're not really on speaking terms at this point…."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. I haven't met him, and I don't want to, is what I'm trying to say."

She gave me a glance that made me think that she knew exactly what I was talking about. There was no more said for the rest of the game.

The next afternoon, people began arriving for my trial—I can't think of a better word for it. Dedalus Diggle, Rubeus Hagrid (the half-giant with a heart of gold—I liked him), Sturgis Podmore, Fabian Prewett (unfortunately, his brother Gideon couldn't make it), Edgar Bones, and Elphias Doge (wearing a neon green and orange beanie). There were fifteen people, not including me. The dining room was a bit crowded at dinnertime.

After the meal, we moved into the living room. Chairs were conjured, and everyone sat in a three-quarter circle. I stood near the door, unsure whether I was supposed to go or stay.

"Remus, we will call you later," Dumbledore said. "Until then, no eavesdropping." I attempted a smile, then returned to the kitchen and shut the door. I played solitaire nervously for a very long time. I believe the conference had gone for three hours, until ten o'clock, before Dumbledore opened the door.

"We are ready for you now," he said quietly. When he had shut the door, he indicated a plain wooden chair near the door. I sat in it, trying not to fidget. I would not look like a kid with stage fright.

"Now," Dumbledore began formally, "I believe Eliza has informed you of the things we expect of you as relate to werewolves…."

I glanced at Lizzie. Eliza…. "Yes, she did." She gave no sign that she had noticed I was looking—everyone's faces were blank and stern. This felt more like a trial than ever.

"Will you be prepared, Remus, to go to Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Scandinavia possibly, to speak with the werewolves in the reserves in those countries?"

"Um...If I had to…yes, I would, Professor."

"Good. Also—"

The glass of water Doc had been balancing on his knee fell off. Nobody seemed to notice. I flicked my wand at it, and it stopped in midair.

Doc lifted it. "To you, Remus. You passed one test—ten out of ten. Wand on your person, constant vigilance—" Moody made an annoyed sound—"quick decision. Excellent."

"A test…." I hissed to myself. I looked around the circle. What other tests were there?

"Also," Dumbledore continued as if there had been no interruption, "you especially will need to be on your guard for offers and messages of any kind from Voldemort."

"I heard of that, Professor." Suddenly there was a funny feeling in my head. Everything seemed to have gone underwater. Everyone was blurry, and Dumbledore was saying something, but I couldn't quite hear what. _Stop that_, I said in my head.

_Why don't you go to the center of the room?_ said another voice in my head. I started getting up, then stopped. _You really ought to go…_Still I hesitated. _Go NOW!_

"_What_ is going on?" I snapped. Everything burst back into focus, and I fell back in my chair with a groan. I had a terrible headache all of a sudden.

"You passed the second test," Lizzie said. "I'm really sorry about that. It's illegal but unfortunately necessary."

Slowly I put two and two together. "Did…did you put the Imperius Curse on me?"

"I said I was sorry." A tear rolled down Lizzie's face. I felt, as did the people sitting near her, that she was about to explode.

"It's fine, Lizzie, it's totally fine. Just don't do it again without telling me. And try to avoid giving me a headache." She flashed a watery smile, then buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Leenie led her out of the room.

"The main duty of he Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore said, "is to watch. We keep our eyes open and report any good signs, bad signs, potential changes in tactics or standings on either side—the ourselves, the Death Eaters, and the Ministry. Report is the important word. You are never to go off on your own and fight the forces of evil, Remus, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"And the Ministry is not to notice that we are doing anything as a group. Secrets have a way of finding the ears of the wrong people through the Ministry, and the Minister is concerned that I may be out of his control—which I am," he added smugly. "If he knew of this, he would think it was an army I was going to use to overthrow his system and bring in my own, and he would proceed to have me silenced. A coup d'état is not entirely out of the question, but I hope it is never a seriously considered plan."

Suddenly my headache intensified. I felt as though something were moving through my brain, looking for things. Suddenly I saw mist clearing in the seventh floor mirror, and the dog was running toward me—

_No! You aren't allowed to see that! _I shouted in my head. The picture went away and the headache subsided. "Is that all?" I said angrily. "Are you quite finished?"

"I'm sorry, Remus," Dumbledore said meekly. "It was the last test."

"Legilimency?"

"Yes…how did you know?" He smiled. "Of course, I am asking a Marauder. I'm sure Sirius or James ran across it somewhere."

"Peter, actually."

His eyes narrowed briefly. "That brings me to my next point. We have also been talking about your friends. It has been decided that your first mission for the Order of the Phoenix—when you join, which I assume will be within the hour—will be to recruit James, Sirius and Peter."

"What about Lily?" I asked.

"I think that would be a good idea."

"I'll do it."

"Well then." Dumbledore shifted slightly in his chair. "Do you consent, from this day—night—until the dissolution of the Order of the Phoenix, your departure from it, or your death to be constantly on your guard for any activity from Lord Voldemort or any of his followers, or any group that intends or is being used to endanger by magical means the people of the world, wizard or Muggle?"

When I had sorted through the until's, and's, and or's of that sentence and found the parts that were questionable, I answered: "I consent." To this day, I don't know why I didn't just say "yes."

Dumbledore sat down. "Benjy?"

Benjy stood up and I prepared my mind for another assault. Benjy Fenwick raised a camera and took my picture. I saw purple spots, and my headache buzzed angrily. When the picture came out of the camera, Benjy Fenwick put in a frame and put several charms on it.

"It tells us when you are in danger and where you are," he explained. "We have a picture of every member of the Order in a room here." He looked sympathetically at me. "It's a work in progress. You undoubtedly know that it doesn't always give ample warning." He picked up the picture he had taken out of the frame and gave it to me. It was a picture of my parents, and they were perfectly still.

**A/N: Reviews? Anyone?**


	3. Up the Tree, Down the Drain

_**III**_

_**Down the Drain**_

Soon after the verdict, the trial disbanded. A few went home. Hagird left—he couldn't apparate, I knew, so I couldn't think where he was going. Dedalus Diggle and Fabian Prewett were staying in rooms near mine. I was feeling strange, and I had a headache, so I went to bed. I didn't want to stay up until dawn talking of war as everyone else was apparently planning to do.

I slowly clumped up the two tight spiral staircases, feeling lonely. I came to my room and flopped onto the bed. Ned yowled at me, so I sat up promptly. My head spun, and I held onto my ears. I saw a mirror, leaning against the wall. It was so dusty I could see nothing in it. This was probably why I hadn't noticed it before. I cleaned it with a spell. Some dust still clung around the edge of the glass near the frame, but it was cleaner at least. The man I saw in it rather disturbed me.

He was short, and slender to the point of being skinny. All the Marauders were small except Sirius, and Peter was fat but very short. The man in the mirror wore cheap, shabby robes of faded blue cloth. Most robes were made of cloth that didn't wear or tear, but these had gone beyond the manufacturing pale—they had been handed down from my father, as had most of my robes, and I had not bothered to add to my wardrobe. The man in the mirror had skin the same brown tint as the eggs the golden chickens in the orchard laid, and hair that was a darker shade of the same color, but flecked generously with grey. His face was hard and, I scarcely believed it, handsome, and it was a map of scars and wrinkles. The man had crow's feet in the corners of his eyes, sad lines at the corners of his mouth, and creases in his forehead. There was a fourfold scar down the left side of his face, arcing almost gracefully from his hairline to his jaw, and cutting a chunk out of his eyebrow. There was another jagged scar near his right ear. This man had been through every mill there was far too many times.

And I knew him.

I shoved Ned off the bed, flopped beck, and went to sleep.

The next morning, everyone seemed happier than usual. I assumed it was because of the weather at first (it had rained during the night, and now everything was as bright and clean and sparkly as a Mrs. Skower's commercial), but then I realized that it was because of me. Nobody went so far as to congratulate me. I realized, of course, that being in the Order of the Phoenix was a dubious honor at best. But I had reason to believe that everyone thought that I would be a good thing.

Everyone seemed happier except, apparently, Lizzie. She sat in the bright, clean, sparkly orchard and sulked, occasionally talking to the chickens or the peacock, occasionally throwing unripened fruit at them. In the afternoon, Emmy and I went out to pick the raspberries and blackberries that grew wild in the orchard, and I slipped away from her and talked to Lizzie.

I picked my way over to where she was sprawled on the branch of an apple tree. A chicken was perched near her, and she was talking to it about trolls. I put down the basket and climbed into the tree. I sat across the trunk from her.

"What's up?" I asked her.

"Well, we are," she said, suddenly flapping a hand at the chicken. It squawked and flew away. A feather landed on her baggy jeans and twitched in the breeze.

"I meant with you. What's your problem?" A gave her a handful of berries. Her hands were as red and purple as mine, and I realized that she probably didn't need the berries. But she took them.

Lizzie put a berry in her mouth and savored it slowly, apparently sucking its juice out before swallowing it, like a spider does with a bug. "Well….You've just been given a really great opportunity, you know. You could write your own name in the history books." She sucked a blackberry dry. "I'm a fugitive. When my brother blabbed, I lost everything, even what I had started with. I was never a big player in the good against evil chess match, Remus. I started out a pawn, and I never traded myself in for anything better. I'll die, most likely at Voldemort's hands, and nobody will even notice. I disappeared without a trace. Nobody outside the Order knows I'm still alive. I think," she swallowed a berry whole, "I think that you will be a big player. You'll be remembered, but I won't."

"You're _jealous _of me?" I was stunned. Was the man in the mirror last night just a dream, brought on by the mind games I had been subject to?

"No, not as _such_…yes, I suppose. But you have to promise me, Remus. Promise me that you won't throw it away, that you'll do something with it, something great—as great as you can possibly do." Her eyes burned into mine with a wild mix of hope, despair, and frustration.

I looked away. "Lizzie…." I felt like I was talking to Lia.Lizzie was like her, somehow. I found myself wondering what Lizzie had been like before her brother blabbed on her. "I'll do my best, but…."

She shushed me. "That's all I ask." She tossed the rest of her berries in her mouth and rolled out of the tree, landing heavily on all fours. I climbed down a bit more carefully. She shook out her wrist, biting her lip. "It's fine, just a bit bothered. I'm going to get food." She stalked back inside, apparently trusting the chickens to get out of her way on their own.

I looked suspiciously after her. What was up with her?

"Strange, isn't she?" said a voice.

I jumped. I had completely forgotten about Emmy. "Strange…?"

"She's insane. She always was, and it's only gotten worse since she came here for good." I said nothing, and she took this as a question. We began picking again as she answered the nonexistent question. "She grew up on the moors. Whenever she talks about them she gets all misty and starts talking about birds, little wooden houses with little drafty windows, gorse bushes, big horizons, her horse named Bruce, and such romantic, wild things. But she actually did live that way. She grew up with space. She hated Hogwarts because there were so many people all in one place, and there wasn't anywhere that you could really run. She skived off classes to run around the lake, and ran away at night to go in the forest—it's beyond me how she got the N.E.W.T.'s she needed, but she did. She never moved to London after she got the job because she hated cities. Besides, most of the training she did was up near where she lived, she only went south for the legal stuff. But then she had to come here. She feels the same about here as she did about Hogwarts, but she doesn't have anywhere to run to. She thinks the orchard is too small. And it is…." Emmy looked toward the low wall of unmortared stone that encircled the estate. It was grey, and had a lot of cracks in it—it looked like somewhere that snakes would breed. "She sulks out here rather often. Some days she goes and talks to her Runsepoor."

"She has a Runespoor?"

"Yes. She's named Sana. Has two heads and lives in Lizzie's bedroom. I think Lizzie's had Sana since she was sixteen—she's twenty-seven, now."

Twenty seven…she looked younger. "She talks to it? How?"

"She taught herself Parseltongue. She said it took her so long that it really isn't worth trying—it took her eight years." There was a silence. The endless wild symphony of the village outside York filled it. "We don't think she'll last the year. She's tried to kill herself once already. Made Sana bite her. We got there in time, though, and we pulled Sana's teeth out." Emmy grimaced. "Neither of them appreciated it—Sana or Lizzie." There was a silence. "What were you two talking about?"

"She's jealous of me. She wants to have another chance at…writing her own name in the history books."

"Oh…."

When we went back inside, I went straight upstairs. I wanted to avoid having to talk to Lizzie again. There was something about her that set my teeth on edge. I shut the door to my room, put Ned out, and began writing a letter. It was to James. It was not long. I said a few vague words about staying with a friend of Dumbledore's, and that there were a lot of important people that came and went. I carefully thought out a few choice phrases to get James thinking in an Orderly direction. He, I thought, was a good starting point for my task because he was impulsive, and good at persuading Sirius to do things—I wasn't good at that. If Sirius was in, I was certain Peter would follow. Over the last year, he had become much attached to Sirius, a bit like a younger brother. Then I wrote shorter letters to the other two Marauders, borrowed Emmy's owl, and sent them off. I promised myself that I would have an owl before the week was out. I was sick of having to borrow other people's owls, because I had never had my own.

I went downstairs around four o'clock. Leenie had gotten back from the broom shop in York where she worked, but none of the three aurors had come back. Frank had become an auror. I wondered if James had known—it seems like he might have mentioned it, because he knew I wanted to be one. I would have to ask Frank about it when he got here.

Dinner was in the makings. Emmy and Leenie were in the kitchen, dancing gracefully around eachother, neither getting in the other's way. Lizzie sat at the little kitchen table with a glass of something green, making glum small talk with the other two. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching the three of them with unfocused eyes and thinking about the last year, the worst of my life, even looking from where I stand now.

The chitchat slowly sputtered to a stop, and all three of them were staring at me. They snapped back into focus.

"Um…." Leenie said.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Just drifting…." There was an awkward pause. "Can…can I help with something?"

"Sure. Make a berry crisp." Leenie threw a crumpled recipe at me, and I began putting it together. Oats, chopped pecans, brown and white sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon zest….I drifted back into my lonesome reverie.

"You look like you know what you're doing," Lizzie commented.

"Oh. I've raided the school kitchens more often than I can count."

Lizzie smirked. It occurred to me that I had never seen her smile. "Sounds like _some_one I know. What was the worst trouble you ever got in for?"

"Ooh, that's a tough one." I smiled, remembering all the trouble we had gotten in. "Sixth year. We all invaded Slugworth's supply cabinet for ingredients for two love potions. We got caught, and Slugworth—this is a true story—made us make the love potions. He gave them to four Slytherin girls. And we got a hundred points off. But we went back the next week and stole them again. That time, we didn't get caught."

All of them were laughing. I caught it, too. "Who're 'we all'?" Lizzie asked.

"Oh, Liz, Dumbledore told you," Leenie said. "Remember, the school's new troublemakers? James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus? How he tried to make Remus control them—"

"And failed dismally," I grumbled.

"He might've mentioned them…" she said disdainfully. Lizzie and I got into a debate over who had gotten in more trouble at Hogwarts. It was the Marauders every time, but Lizzie wouldn't give up.

When we were eating dinner, I asked Frank about being an auror.

"Well." Frank swallowed his mouthful. "You have to go through three more years of school, then pass the exam. The school is free, though, because there aren't enough people who want to apply to filter poor people out. After that, you are an auror. You have to go to the Ministry to get hired, but I've never heard of them turning someone down….But—"

"I'd say not," Moody grated. "It's a twenty-four-seven job. They can call you in whenever they like—that includes full moons." My eyes stung with frustration. "I happen to know your N.E.W.T. scores. Dumbledore was impressed enough to tell me what they were. You won't be short of work, Remus. At least, not as things stand now…."

I didn't ask what my scores were. I glared at my plate. My dream had gone down the drain.


	4. Out to Dinner

_**IV**_

_**Out to Dinner**_

A week passed. I got no replies to the letters I had sent. I had expected this. I knew that James was on vacation, and Sirius was stressed out about applying for a job at Gringotts, and Peter almost never replied to letters. Nonetheless, I was lonely. There were only three days left. Then, I could move to London. Sirius promised to give me a tour when I got there, so I had something to look forward to.

It was August eighth. It was a very hot, humid day. The chirping of the crickets (I had not known it to stop, ever) was barely distinguishable from the buzzing of the general insect populace. The incessant buzz, the wavering heat, and the blinding sun gave me a headache. The house was silent, and empty except for me and Lizzie. The clock ticked halfheartedly to four-thirty, but nothing changed. The light swam through the haze that whitened the sky and the haze that floated above the ground and through my window. I had a cooling spell on my room, but I was still sweating through my pants—I had long since taken my shirt off. I was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, half-asleep, when someone knocked on the door.

I broke through my stupor. "What?"

"I want to…could I come in?" Lizzie asked.

"Just a sec." I yanked my shirt back on. "OK."

Lizzie came in. She was dressed in a floaty, peach-colored dress and wore a pearl necklace. She had done something with her face, and with her hair. The words "makeup" and "hairspray" didn't come to mind. I only thought that for once, she looked really, really, pretty. The faint sheen of sweat somehow accentuated this overall impression. So did the coy blush.

"Well…" I said. I felt a bit embarrassed that I hadn't been wearing a shirt only seconds before. "Why?"

"I want to take you out to dinner, Remus," she said hastily with a timid smile. I blinked. "I'll pay…."

"But…you're—supposed to stay here, the Death Eaters—"

"It's been six months, Remus. They'll have moved on by now. And if they haven't—well, it's a risk I'm willing to take for my sanity." She looked into my eyes pleadingly. "Please?"

"Why do you want to take me? Me, Lizzie."

"I like you….And I'd go anyway. I might as well take you."

I paused of a fraction of a second. "All right. But I'll need to get some real clothes on first."

"I was going to tell you that your shirt's on backwards." She left and shut the door. I pulled the collar of my shirt away from my neck, and found a tag looking me in the face. I sighed and pulled it off again, then began sorting through my trunk. Clothes that could be worn in public were one thing, but didn't I have _any_ complete pairs of socks?

I met her in the entryway. She was smiling nervously, like a little girl about to do something her parents had specifically forbidden. We went out the door and walked the half-mile to "downtown." She insisted that we walk, and I was too hot to argue about it. I had a nagging feeling in the back of my head that I was forgetting about something important. The haze on the western horizon was stained blood red, purple, gold, and the same peachy shade as Lizzie's dress. I was too hot to be impressed by it.

The streets were deserted except for a cat or two, and a girl practicing violin in a lawn chair on the sidewalk. When we reached the bit of town that passed as downtown for lack of anything busier, we came across perhaps five shoppers sweating in the streets, seeking the shelter of air-conditioned shops where they felt they wouldn't mind being advertised to.

The church—the only one in town—tolled five. The dongs swam slowly through the haze and beat against our eardrums. Lizzie took my hand and led me into a restaurant. I didn't look up to see what it was called, but it was Italian. It was also mostly empty. Four waiters were sitting around a table in the back, chatting and smoking cigarettes. When we entered, three of them looked at the youngest at the table. He stood up, extinguished his cigarette and came over to us with a slightly distant smile.

"Good afternoon," he said. "Two?"

I had been opening my mouth when Lizzie answered. She said yes with impressive alacrity—though it was air-conditioned in here, I had not quite recovered from my term in the oven. We got a table, ordered, did all the things one does in a restaurant. We said almost nothing to eachother. The nagging feeling that I had forgotten something had not left me, and Lizzie was too busy smiling to talk.

We were halfway through our meals when I heard the door to the restaurant open. Lizzie went white and tapped me on the head with her wand. I had been Disillusioned.

"Don't say _anything_," she whispered. She vanished my meal, then acted as though she had seen nothing, done nothing. I felt cheated, somehow. I looked to the door. A tall, pale man with greasy, silvery-blond hair had entered. He had a large nose, and he was using it. He turned slowly to look around the restaurant and saw Lizzie. He ignored the waiter's pleasantries and strode silently to her, avoiding places that she could look up and see easily. He stood behind her and trailed his fingers up her back. I stiffened, and she shuddered.

"Lucius," she breathed.

"Long time, no see, Eliza." He bent his head down next to her ear. The waiters were whispering. "I am not going to dilly-dally, this time, Miss Buchanan," he muttered. "Would you insist on your fighting chance, or will you save both of us the bother?"

"I'll take my last bargain, Lucius." She stood up, glaring at me as if to tell me to stay where I was. "In the street?"

"Yes, Eliza." They walked out of the restaurant, side by side, hands almost touching through a barrier of ice. Suddenly, everything seemed very cold. I jumped from my seat and sprinted to the door, slipping through just before it shut.

"This is serious, Eliza," the mysterious Lucius said with a vampire-like smile. "No seconds. Ten paces?"

"Ten." They turned back to back, walked ten paces, then turned and bowed. Lucius donned a black mask and hood. I was shivering all over, though I knew it was hot out here and I was sweating. My wand was slippery, and my mind was blank.

The two wands, one black and one red-brown, were raised. There was a mental count of three, then Lizzie's wand sent something bright at Lucius. It was deflected, and a red light hit Lizzie in the chest. She crumpled in a heap on the asphalt, screaming. It was…oh, I knew what it was, and it was bad, where had all my spells gone? Another red light hit Lizzie, and I raised my wand. I opened my mouth, and realized I had nothing to say, my brain was shut off. Another beam of light. White-faced waiters had rushed to the windows of the restaurant. Another. One of the waiters had the presence of mind to call someone. Another. A man rushed out of a hobby shop with a bow and arrow and shot at Lucius. The arrow spun away and landed in the shingles of the restaurant. Another. Lizzie bent in such a way that her dress ripped. Another. "For Christ's sake, stop it!" a waiter shouted. Another. A man in blue robes arrived. Lucius started and sent a new, green light at Lizzie. She collapsed. Was she dead? I did not notice when Lucius disappeared.

I was still staring at the peach-colored heap on the street when Leenie shook my shoulder. "Remus!" she said loudly. "We need to get you home. Now."

I jumped and looked at her. "What?"

"Home, Remus. You, now. Apparate, this is an emergency." Apparate…oh. I apparated with Leenie. We appeared in the orchard.

"What's…."

"It's the full moon, Remus."

"Oh." I swore. I glanced at the sky and ran thoughtlessly to the barn. It had been werewolf-proofed.

I woke up in the late morning. Sun was streaming through the windows of the barn, and the air looked to be full of glitter. I lay on the dirt floor of the barn, staring at the dust motes. How I hurt. I thought that I had been banging myself against the walls, and I felt it now. Even just lying there, I felt the lactic acid crystallizing my muscles into tight, useless lumps. Hands…opposable thumbs, good. I reached up and checked my face. There was a bump on it, near my temple. Nose, check…I tried to open my mouth, but blood from my nose had gummed it shut. Why had I wanted to open my mouth, again? My eyes itched from the dust in the barn, but at least they saw in color.

There had been something going on before the barn, hadn't there? A restaurant, and a sunset, and a duel, and peaches….Solitary images superimposed the barn I was staring at until I remembered it all. Lizzie was dead, like my parents. Like Lia. She had been tortured. That was illegal….And then…who was he, again?...Lucius. He had killed her. Yes, that was how it had gone. We had gone to the restaurant, and he had found us—her. And I hadn't been able to do anything. Nothing at all. I hadn't even had the presence of mind to call someone like the waiter had, or shoot him with an arrow like that Muggle. I had just lifted my wand and gulped like a fish. I had…I had betrayed Lizzie, almost. I had deserted her when she had needed me. What was I worth then? For hours, I lay there thinking about that.

"Remus?" Leenie's voice called from outside. I said nothing. "Remus, you're back, right?" I still didn't answer. She looked through the window, then came in. I had tossed my clothes outside the door before transforming (no good in wasting an outfit when you suddenly become the wrong shape for it). She pulled me up into a sit, then tugged the shirt over my head. She did it without a twinge of embarrassment.

"Remus, welcome back to the world. Get dressed. I'll wait for you outside." She stood up.

"W-water," I said hoarsely. Good, the vocal cords were working. "Could I have some water?" She conjured a glass and handed it to me. She left. I put my clothes on, then pulled my aching self up against a broken plow. I staggered a few steps as the muscles in my legs became aware that they were no longer wolfish. I picked up the water and drank it all in one go. I forced my uncooperative legs to take me to the door. I leaned on Emmy as we went beck to the house.

"I take it you are feeling awful?" she asked me as we crossed the endless orchard.

"Awful," I said. "Is she really...?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"It's all my fault, I'm such an idiot, I—"

"It's _not_ your fault, Remus."

"It _is_!" I half-shouted. "I shouldn't've let her go, I could've stopped her, and I couldn't think of anything to do when he came—"

"Who was he?" Leenie interrupted.

"Lucius."

"Again? That's unusual. He must be worth something. Usually Voldemort gets annoyed if his agents fail him once, he doesn't give second chances….Move it, girls." The chickens squawked off.

"I can't do that again," I said. "I can't just let them do that."

"Who, the Death Eaters? We were going to give you lessons in dueling. We hadn't planned on them being so necessary…." We had reached the kitchen door, and I sat at the table. Doc was cooking. This was a sign of disaster—Doc couldn't cook to save his life. Leenie sighed. "I _told _you to let Emmy do it, Doc."

"She's crying in the dining room. She fell to pieces last night while you were checking the barn. We got her to bed, though." Doc looked despairingly at Leenie, his spatula held at shoulder level. Leenie took the last step that separated them away and they kissed. I looked away.

"It's awful," Leenie sighed, her head on Doc's shoulder. I was put in mind of the rare occasions when my parents had done such things, and I had looked away, blushing.

Dumbledore opened the door, glanced at Doc and Leenie with a sad little smile, then sat next to me. He put a spell on me, and my muscles fixed themselves and the blood vanished from my face.

"I'm sorry, Professor," I said hollowly.

"Nobody blames you, Remus."

"You didn't catch him, did you?"

"No. I doubt we will. He is a political man, and we have no hard evidence."

I ran a hand through my hair. "When will this stop, Professor?"

He shook his head. "I have no love for divination. It stops when it stops." There was a silence. "There is going to be a conference tonight. New safety measures, I think." He touched my shoulder and stood up.

I pressed my eyeballs into their sockets. Was I the only one who didn't think so…_objectively_?


	5. Steps are Taken

_**V**_

_**Steps are Taken**_

In the afternoon, it rained. It poured for over an hour, then turned into a wild thunderstorm. I pushed the branch of the chestnut tree out of the way and shut the window. I had gone up to my room after I had been informed of the conference. I had skipped breakfast—often after a transformation my stomach is too confused to handle anything other than water, and I hadn't been hungry anyway. And I couldn't sleep like I usually did the morning after, not today. So I was in my room staring out the window at the driving rain when Dorcas Meadowes came in without knocking. She had known that I wouldn't have answered.

"Dinner. If you don't come down, I shall take you by force." I followed her down. "Most of the same people came," She said as we went down the stairs. "Fabian Prewett came, though, and Hagrid couldn't make it. Not that that's really a bad thing, he's hard to feed." I said nothing.

I nodded silently at the condolences offered in the dining room by people I scarcely remembered the names of, ate because Leenie was watching me closely. I tried to remember what Lizzie had ordered at the restaurant the night before. I couldn't. I looked at everyone sitting around the table. Had they once been as terrible at dueling as I was? Had it mattered so much if they had been?

When the conference was started, we did not move it into the living room. Leenie just served drinks and we had it in the dining room. The transition from meal to conference was not an official one, but it was one keenly felt. When all the members assembled had drinks, it was accepted that dinner was over and the conference had begun. But for nearly five minutes, nobody had anything to say. The silence was awkward. It was the sort of silence during which you whisper "sorry" after sneezing.

There was a roll of thunder, and Dumbledore decided that it was his introduction. "This cannot be allowed to happen again," he said solemnly. I opened my mouth to say something, an apology of some kind. "Remus, I say again, nobody here blames you for it." There was a general shaking of heads, which made me feel a tiny bit better. A tiny bit. "She would have gone out at some point, and this would have happened. I thought from the beginning that we were simply prolonging the inevitable. We have to find another way to hide our people—when it is necessary." He looked around the table for suggestions. "There is Polyjuice potion. If the Dark Side can identify a person, but not his or her house, that is an option. And there is the Fidelius Charm."

There were gasps. I hardly knew what the Fidelius Charm was, though I had a feeling I should. Hadn't that been in Defense Against the Dark Arts at some point? "Who knows how to do that?" Doc asked. "Besides you, I mean."

"I can," Gideon Prewett murmured. His angelic blond curls had swung forward over his face.

"Oh…." Doc flushed a little.

We talked about how secret-keepers were to be chosen, and the criteria that would have to be met for a Fidelius Charm to be necessary. Then we talked about who would make Polyjuice potion, and under what circumstances, and who the person taking it would turn into. When silence struck again, Fabian Prewett brought up an uncomfortable point.

"We ought to write wills…just in case, you know."

Everyone stared at him.

"You know," Dumbledore said, "I don't think that would be a bad idea." Nobody disagreed, and the silence returned. After perhaps fifteen minutes had passed, people began filtering out. I was among the first. I hid my head under my pillow and thought—I was eighteen, and I had to write a _will_? What had I gotten myself into? What did I have to leave to anyone, anyhow? There was just my trunk, and there was hardly anything in that that anyone would want.

Suddenly something occurred to me. I had gotten a letter way back in that evil February. I had not paid attention to it, just thrown it in my trunk. I went to my trunk, hoping beyond hope that it would still be there. Miraculously, it was. Way down at the bottom, under an ancient box of Pepper Imps. I opened it. It was from Gringotts, informing me that the contents of vault 221 were mine. There were, it said, six hundred twenty thousand five hundred twelve galleons, three sickles, six knuts in it. With six months interest, now….I suddenly had a lot more money than I thought I had. How much money had I had? A hundred galleons, if that.

So who would I leave it to? Of course, it wouldn't come to that, but since Dumbledore wanted me to. Who? I didn't know any living relatives. The Marauders? Split between the three of them? I put the letter down and lay down on the bed, wondering what the Marauders would do with that kind of money—the in-school Marauders. I dreamed dreams about getting in trouble, and then suddenly there was an executioner in the dream. I woke up. I hadn't realized I had fallen asleep. It was after five in the morning, and I didn't fall back to sleep before I heard Leenie downstairs.

I had the house to myself most of that day after everyone had gone to work. And I hated it. It had gotten hot again after the thunderstorm, but it was marginally drier. I was reminded of that afternoon two days before, when it had been too hot to do anything but lie on the floor half-dressed. I took a nap. It was a sweaty nap, but better than the ceaselessly pounding, miserable memory that was the alternative. I slept fitfully, and dreamed about Italian ice and Lizzie and Lia. I had never had Italian ice, but anyone can dream.

I woke up at four-thirty in the afternoon, feeling a bit sick. The soupy air, restless sleep, weird dreams, sweat, and residual morning-after-transformation had left me feeling like I had a fever. I tripped coming down the stairs. Frank caught me at the bottom and set me on my feet.

"Don't feel great, do you?"

"Not really. What's happening?"

"Everyone's back, and Moody has something you need to see—oh, I'll tell you. They put through a new werewolf decree today. It'll probably be in the papers tomorrow."

The words "werewolf decree" had put me on my guard. Decrees were bad.

"And they've come up with a potion—Wolfsbane potion. You need to keep a flask in the house during the week prior to the full moon."

"What's it do?"

"I'm not really clear on it, you'll have to ask, but I gather that it lets you keep your mind to an extent when you transform. And…."

"And?" I prompted.

"And you have to go to the Ministry by the thirty-first. They need to put your name on a list."

"What are they going to do with the list?"

"All the werewolves in England are going to be on it, and anyone who wants to know who you are can see it if they ask for it. And you'll be given an ID card, and you'll have to show it to any prospective landlords, employers, or employees."

"Landlords, you said?"

"Yeah…."

"There goes the apartment." I didn't want to stay here, not really, but the apartment I had been looking at was owned by a Muggle. I had a sort of sinking feeling in my chest, as if this was just the beginning. And it was. Things were only to go down from here.

That Friday (two days after the decree) I went to the Ministry with Emmy. We split up at the elevator with a morose, "See you." I went to the Werewolf Department, the place so disreputable among the reputable wizarding population that it is a euphemism for sudden unemployment.

It was a dreary place. I had only been here once before, when I was nine, and it had hardly changed since. There were no owls, they had been replaced by purple paper airplanes, but that was all. It was not a grey place, but one got the sense that it was.

I waited for a few minutes in the lobby. I didn't sit down. I thought that soon someone would come, and the chairs didn't look very comfortable anyhow.

When I had almost given up and sat, a West Indian secretary came in. "I'm so sorry, sir, have I kept you waiting?" I shook my head. "How can I help you?"

"I'm here because of the decree," I said.

"Oh, yes. You're the first. This way, please." She led me briskly from the lobby and into a short hallway. She knocked on a door.

"What, Martina?" said a hoarse voice inside.

Martina opened the door. "It's someone for the decree." She glanced at me and left.

I looked with narrowed eyes at the man behind the desk. He was tall and slim, the build I had always thought wizards' robes were designed to flatter. His hair was fair and streaked with grey, though he could not have been over thirty. I thought he must be a werewolf. He had the saddest face I had ever seen—at least, at that point. He was wearing a strange bracelet, apparently made of fake silver and engraved with the number 24601. I felt like I had seen him before.

"Hello, I'm Darryn Hathaway," he said, extending a hand. I started to reach for it, then froze.

"You're Darryn Hathaway?" I asked. I forced my voice to stay level.

"Yes…wait. You're—you aren't Lia's boyfriend—"

"And you're her brother—"

"Remus—Remus Lupin!"

"The photo album, I knew you!"

"Merlin, I'm sorry." The interruptions stopped. His head fell into his hands. "I can't…I can't tell you how sorry I am." I was silent. "It's so hard. I can't stop thinking about it. There was so much blood, and she was so brave, she tried to bring me to my senses—" He choked, and a tear splashed onto the book on his desk.

"She forgave you, Darryn," I found myself saying. Lia's voice drifted through my head: _Do this for me: tell Darryn that I forgive him, since it wasn't entirely his fault anyway._

"What?"

"She forgave you. I was there when she…."

"You were?"

"I was the only one." He looked at me with something resembling fear. I realized what he feared. "I forgive you, too, Darryn." The fear disappeared. "What's going to happen about it?"

"My trial's tomorrow. And see this—" he waved the wrist with the fake silver bracelet—"they use it to knock me out whenever I turn."

"What if you're guilty?"

"They send me to a reserve somewhere, I imagine." He said it with forced indifference, and took a drink of something. He shivered.

"When tomorrow is your trial?"

"Ten—wait. You're coming?"

"I can't just let you go to a reserve!"

He shook his head. "It won't do any good. I have Umbridge _and_ Crouch against me." When he saw my blank face, he explained. "Umbridge is a fat toad of a woman who hates anything that isn't pure, human wizard. I'm sure you know about Crouch, the most influential man in the ministry after Dumbledore. And Umbridge and Crouch together are worth more than Dumbledore." He took another swig of whatever was in the bottle. "It's a closed case."

I was going to go anyway.

"But the list. What's your middle name?" The pen in his hand shook. I told him and he scribbled it down. "Address?" I told him Leenie's muggle address. He took my picture. I think I had my eyes closed. A little card came out of the side of the camera. I took it, feeling as though it was my execution order. It was just a little card with a still picture and the words "Remus James Lupin: born 12/17/60, bitten 7/10/70; 44 Jillian Lane, York," and then, at the bottom in big capital letters the evil label: "**WEREWOLF**."

"Lovely thing, isn't it?" Darryn said contemptuously. "You'll have to come here a week before the full moon and pick up the potion. Bring the card. That's everything for now."

"See you tomorrow," I said. He opened his mouth, shut it; waved jerkily. I put the detestable bit of paper in my pocket and left.


	6. Darryn's Trial

_**VI**_

_**Darryn's Trial**_

I woke up very early the next morning, the moment the rooster started crowing. I usually slept through that. The sky over the orchard was stained pink and purple, and was evenly covered with thin cloud. I had a feeling it was going to be another hot day. I put on the clothes I had put out last night and went downstairs to make my breakfast. Nobody was up yet, so I made it as silently as I possibly could. I hate waking people up. I had started on the crossword in yesterday's paper that still sat on the kitchen counter when the Order started waking up.

Frank came down first, still in pajamas. "Hey, Remus," he yawned, "how about a dueling lesson this afternoon? I've been elected to teach you."

"Fine."

"Oh, and Leenie wants us to build a new chicken coop sometime if you're staying. They used to use the barn."

"I'm staying."

Frank made his breakfast, and sat next to me to eat it. He looked over the crossword, nodded. "What are you going to say at the trial?"

My pencil stopped in the middle of a letter. "I don't know." I hadn't thought about it. I finished the letter slowly, realizing how stupid I had been.

"Remus, you gotta come up with something. I doubt Darryn'll argue his case."

What? Why?"

"I have it on a reliable source that he turned himself in." When I was shocked, Frank laughed mirthlessly. "What else could he do, Remus? He knew he was guilty, and a few others did. There wouldn't have been any good in running away from the law, and he couldn't just act like nothing had happened."

"But then he _wants_ to go to the reserve?"

Frank stirred his coffee. The milk swirled into strange spirals that looked like they ought to mean something. "I don't know him, you understand. But I bet that he considers himself a danger to society, and himself. Lia's death must hurt him more than anyone else." He paused, organizing his thoughts. "You have to understand, Remus, werewolves like you and Darryn are not common. Most werewolves, upon becoming werewolves, go straight to the reserves, either out of…self-pity?...or wanting to be with their own kind, or unwillingness to suffer the indignity of being _sent_ to the reserve. So they give up everything so that they have nothing to lose. Darryn is probably thinking that he should have gone to the reserve like most do, and…he'll probably go there whether or not he's declared guilty."

I didn't think that he finished as he had planned to, that he was saving me from knowing something that I wouldn't want to know. But then Emmy came down and prevented me from asking.

I got to the courtroom at nine-forty-five. After formalities with the clerk were observed, I went in. The jury was sitting in its box, chatting, and the judge (Crouch) was talking to a blond reporter who sucked a bright green quill when she wasn't talking. A short, fat woman sat near him, smiling disgustingly. I had a feeling she was Umbridge—she looked like a toad. Dumbledore was in the jury box, as were Moody and Gideon Prewett.

Darryn sat in the center of the courtroom in an ancient wooden chair with chains dangling from it. He wasn't chained, though. His elbows were on the arms of the chair, and the heels of his hands were pressed into his eyes. Behind him sat his mother, an official of some kind in brown robes, and Healer…Smethwyck, wasn't he? I sat next to Mrs. Hathaway.

"He didn't tell me you were coming," she murmured to me. She sighed. "He doesn't talk much, though….And he won't argue his case." She was twisting something in her hands. It was moving too fast for me to tell what it was.

"Why?" I asked, wondering if Frank had been right.

"He thinks a reserve is the best place for him. Nothing I can say will change his mind, and he'll go no matter what."

I felt a bit stupid asking the question, but I had to know: "Why is he having a trial, then?"

"He's doing it for you, he said. This will be your precedent if you ever get in trouble like this."

"Oh…."

Crouch was talking to the clerk. We could hear bits and pieces of what he was saying from where we were. "Regrettable, but…the law's the law….Yes, Ms Skeeter will….Everyone's here…we may as well get started." The clerk nodded and went to what I assumed was his place. Suddenly I was very, very nervous. Mrs. Hathaway's hands stopped twisting. Darryn didn't move.

After the formalities were observed (testing the stenographer's quill, introductions) Crouch sat up straighter with an earnest, almost manic expression on his face. Umbridge smiled. "Mr. Hathaway," Crouch boomed. The name echoed around the courtroom. "You are accused of murdering Miss Lia Hathaway when you were in wolf form." There was a silence. I thought that this was usually the time when the defendant said something to the effect of being innocent. Darryn said nothing.

"Do you deny it?" Crouch said. I sensed that he was a bit annoyed.

"No." Darryn didn't move

There was another pause.

"Well, do you have anything to tell the court?" Crouch asked.

"No," Darryn repeated.

"Does anyone else have anything to tell the court? Healer Smethwyck?"

All eyes turned to him. He appeared to be thinking it over. "No, I think not, your honor," he answered tranquilly.

"Mr. Pole?" The eyes moved down the line to the official in the brown robes.

"Well, your honor…." Mr. Pole had an Irish accent, and he worked at a werewolf reservation in Wales, the one Darryn would be sent to. "Well, your honor, I think that we should look at this very closely. Perhaps Mr. Lupin—" I jumped when I heard my name— "will have something more to say about it than I do, but I think that Mr. Hathaway is innocent…to a degree. You see, your honor, it was the _wolf_ killed Miss Hathaway, not the man…." I knew at that point what I was going to say. "But it's the man as is sitting here in front of us."

"What are you saying, Mr. Pole?" Umbridge asked. Her voice was shockingly high and girly, like she was talking to a baby.

"I'm saying that I am fairly sure that Mr. Hathaway wouldn't have killed Miss Hathaway as he is now." Whispers buzzed around the courtroom, and Dumbledore smiled. Umbridge and Crouch looked a bit unpleasantly surprised. Darryn still didn't move. Mr. Pole looked at me.

"Mr. Lupin?" Crouch called.

"Um…." Mrs. Hathaway nudged me with her foot. Something wiggly was having a party in my stomach. "I agree with Mr. Pole," I began, forcing myself to speak slowly and clearly. "When we are in wolf form we are…well, not human, your honor. Wolves and people think in drastically different ways." I had gotten into stride, now. I prayed that nobody would interrupt me because I would trip and not get back up again. "When we are wolves, we do not think of consequences. Our brains are simply not wired for such a complex process. When a wolf wants to eat, he does not think, 'Is the animal someone else's? Will I want it tomorrow?' And a werewolf exists to eat—to bite. There is nothing we can do to stop ourselves." I realized that I was confirming what Crouch and Umbridge knew—werewolves are savage killers. Now I had to dig myself out of the hole. "But when we are humans, we're like everyone else. We don't bite when we're humans." I was speaking in fits and starts, now. I had lost my stride. "If you declare Darryn guilty…you'll be punishing the man for the things that the wolf did. They are really two different…beings."

It was a lame ending, and I knew it, but I thought I had made an impact. The whispers started again. I felt slightly flattered—I had slapped together, with no preparation and butterflies in my stomach, a speech that the court felt it was worth whispering about. Dumbledore flashed me a congratulatory smile, and Mrs. Hathaway squeezed my hand.

Smethwyck cleared his throat, and Crouch nodded at him. "It sounds to me a bit like a case of temporary insanity, your honor," Smethwyck said. Crouch's mouth, thin already below its toothbrush of moustache thinned more.

"And—refresh my memory, Barty," Umbridge trilled, "what is the usual procedure for a verdict of temporary insanity?" She smiled as though she had just caught a very large fly on her sticky toad tongue. I had a feeling I wouldn't like the answer.

"The usual procedure, Ms Umbridge," Crouch said in quiet triumph, "is to send the defendant to an asylum…."

"Thank you _ever_ so much, Barty," Umbridge gushed. "I have a _terrible _memory, you know." The smile widened and was bestowed on me. I didn't like it at all.

"Mrs. Hathaway?" Crouch called. Mrs. Hathaway was holding my hand very tightly, and I didn't know what to think of it. She shook her head. Dumbledore was wearing a look of resignation. He knew that, at this point, nothing short of an Imperius Curse would change Crouch's mind, and perhaps not even that.

"Then is that all?" Crouch said. Nobody refuted it. "Very well—all in favor of declaring Mr. Hathaway innocent, by a show of hands." Nearly half the hands went up, among them Dumbledore's, Moody's, Gideon's, and all the people in their vicinity. I thought the jury must be unofficially divided into parties—Dumbledore's and Crouch's. "All in favor of declaring Mr. Hathaway temporarily insane, to be sent to Lloyd Machweledh Reserve in Wales, by a show of hands." Hands went down, hands were raised. My heart sank. There wasn't time to count, but I knew there were more. "Excellent…Darryn is declared temporarily insane, to be sent to the Lloyd Machweledh Werewolf Reserve for an indefinite period." Translation: for life. I knew the ministry well enough for that. "Mr. James?"

A man who had been standing discreetly in the back of the room came forward and stood before Darryn. "Your wand," he said after a moment. Darryn took it out of his pocket and gave it to Mr. James, and he snapped it over his knee. Sparks flew everywhere.

"Case closed," Crouch said. "Have a nice day."


	7. The BlueHaired Man

**Sorry about the wait. My Sirius comes a little from the movie, but I have seriously thought him over.**

_**Chapter VII**_

_**The Blue-Haired Man**_

"Darryn," I whispered. "I'm sorry. I could have done better, I know it—" He made a small gesture of acknowledgement. Those words, _Have a nice day,_ rang again through my head, mocking me.

"Thank you, Remus."

Mr. Pole took Darryn by the arm. "Come on, Darryn, we'd best not try the Ministry's patience." Darryn stood and consented to be led, head hung, out of the courtroom. His mother followed, touching my arm lightly as she passed. Darryn did not look back. _Have a nice day._

I felt Dumbledore standing beside me. When Dumbledore stands beside you, you can feel it. It is among the best feelings in the world. "Under the circumstances, Remus, I thought you did very well. I considered speaking, but the politics would have been horrible. I was confident that you had the eloquence to get him out of a death sentence, and you have done as much."

"A death sentence, Professor?" I asked incredulously.

"That is the general procedure for homicidal beasts…."

Temporarily insane, or a homicidal beast. That was a hard choice. _Have a nice day._

Crouch's cruelly ironic words, _Have a nice day_, echoed in my head for the rest of that day, as I sat staring glumly at the remaining half of a sandwich on my plate that I had no appetite for, as Frank and I hammered together the frame of a chicken coop, as we dueled. I think that this echoing emptiness in my mind helped with the Occlumency involved in the dueling lesson. Frank entered my mind, and all he could find were the words, _Have a nice day_. It made him laugh the first few times, then he became convinced that something was wrong and stopped laughing. Ned and the chickens watched my lesson with varying levels of disinterest, but hung around anyway, wondering, I think, if all of this flashing light and shouting had anything to do with them.

Over the week (during which Frank and I finished the coop and made great progress on my dueling skills), I grew depressed, and faintly stir-crazy. Poor Lizzie, I constantly reminded myself, trying to put my situation into perspective, but it did not work. I had to leave, if just for a few hours. I could go see Sirius, I knew where he lived. He could always cheer me up. On Friday night, I apparated to Sirius's street in London and found his apartment. He lived on the fourth floor of a dingy building near Petticoat Lane. I was puzzled by that, because the Sirius I had known at school would die before he used words like "petticoat," but that was where he lived.

I convinced the security guard (Muggle, of course) that Sirius would indeed want to see me, and that if he wasn't in, I would wait outside his door until he came. The guard did not seem happy about it, but reluctantly let me go up the stairs. Sirius was not in. I glanced down the stairs, having a feeling that the guard might have followed me, then opened the door to Sirius's apartment.

It was even messier than I had expected, if that was possible. If you looked at the floor, bed, and table, you could tell who Sirius was, what he looked like, and what he had been doing. The bed was under a layer of flotsam and jetsam that included magazines, dirty and clean clothes (it was hard to distinguish between them), candy, clipboards with rather important-looking papers on them. His owl was perched on the headboard, and had decided that I was not worth waking up for. The table was piled high with dirty dishes, books (mostly schoolbooks, lingering in the house like guests that linger at a house beyond their invitation), and non-perishable food. On the table before the only chair in the house whose seat was visible was a ledger with a lot of numbers in it, a plate with bread on it, and a tube of some sort of hair gel with the cap missing. The floor was invisible through layers of clothes, papers, magazine clippings, boxes. In a corner was a tank with a streeler in it.

I picked my way to the table and sat. Yes, this was a Sirius I knew. He could make Petticoat Lane his home by insulating himself with the girliness of it with his mess. I set about the formidable task of doing the dishes.

I had hardly dented the piles when Sirius came, wand raised. He dropped it, laughing, when he saw me directing plates in and out of the sink. His hair had been died a deep electric blue. "Here I was, all ready for a burglar, and it's just Moony doing the dishes. What're you doing here?"

"The dishes," I replied, perfectly straight-faced. A smile broke loose, and I relented. "I've been depressed, Padfoot." I looked at his hair derisively. "Blue hair, Sirius?"

He shook his head. "Don't try to make me regret it. I love it. You're depressed though—I think I can help with that. Wasn't anything to do with the werewolf decree, was it? I thought that was the nastiest thing they could have done, made you wear labels like that. It's why you didn't move here?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I figured you had enough on your plate without joining a werewolf campaign." I stopped the dishes' progress across the kitchen and sat in the chair I had cleared. "But you remember Darryn? Lia's brother?"

"Oh, dear." He tossed his bag onto the bed and sat. "We meet the in-laws."

"I went to his trial, and he lost."

Sirius nodded. "I heard about that, something about a werewolf killing his sister and going to Wales. I didn't connect it with you, idiot that I am. I hope you argued for him?"

"Not well. But I tried. And I did get their attention—and I helped get his punishment changed from death to indefinite imprisonment—I don't know. They decided that a werewolf's time of the month is a form of temporary insanity."

"And the nasty thing is," Sirius grumbled, "that if he'd done that after they invented the potion, they'd've blamed it on the people who made it. He was just three months too early."

"It wouldn't have made him feel any better."

"No, probably not." He sighed. "And you're staying with Dumbledore. How goes it at the nerve center of the wizarding world?"

"Hot. And dull. That's part of my problem. I can't leave the house alone because there are people after anyone Dumbledore seems to care about, but there's nothing to do in there. It has made people insane, I've seen it. This woman he was protecting went out to dinner one night and got killed in the street. She hadn't been out of the house for six months."

"Was her name Eliza Buchanan? Murdered in York by the Death Eaters, outside an Italian restaurant? Declared missing, presumed dead for the last six months?" I nodded, and he shrugged. "Read it in the paper. You knew her, then."

"Yes. I had gone to the restaurant with her." There, it was said—I'd gone on a date. Let him interpret it how he would.

He whistled. "You've been busy." He pulled a newspaper from a stack on the table, flipped through it. "She's pretty."

"She's pretty like a sword is pretty, or like a lightning bolt is pretty."

"Oh. That kind of pretty."

"I didn't like her much. She was a little creepy sometimes. She went out into the orchard all the time, and she screamed and kicked things and punched the trees when she was in a bad mood, or talked to the chickens and threw apples at them when she was in a good mood." I looked moodily at a moving box, remembering that conversation in the tree over a handful of berries.

"Speaking of girls," Sirius drawled languorously, leaning back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head.

I laughed tightly. I was still in the tree, and the subject change had not been smooth. "Siri, you said you'd given up on girls."

"Hah. That was before I met Kudra." He pulled a Muggle picture out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was a picture of him kissing a beautiful Indian-looking girl against a background in deep shadow. On the back of the picture was written in pink, bubbly letters, "Kudra told me to! Please, Siri! XXX, Vana." I hid a smirk and returned the picture.

"Nicely done."

Sirius squeezed a mountain of hair gel into his palm and rubbed it into his hair. His hair was one of his many vanities. He was proud of its curl and copper-tinted black, and kept it long. His other vanities were his tattoos and his beard. I often had to tell myself, No, he is not a rock star. Because he wasn't. He was Sirius, and that is something entirely different.

"And you get to meet her, Moony, because we are going to her pitár's restaurant right now and getting drinks—and you aren't paying anything." He crumpled his hair in both hands and let it fall in crinkled waves to his shoulders, then shook it. A gob of gel hit the wall like a mouthful of spit, and I wrinkled my nose. He unbuttoned the first three buttons on his shirt, displaying his moon tattoo. I shook my head and followed him out of the apartment building. He waved jauntily to the grumpy security guard, who seemed less put out about me than before.

We talked amiably about the good old days while we walked the three blocks to "her pitár's restaurant." I was surprised that we actually thought of the good old days as such, for they had barely ended a month ago. But in a way, I was not surprised. As far as I was concerned, those days could have been part of a different universe. I could no more return to them than I could bring Lia back to life. I wondered if Sirius felt the same way. I doubted it.

The restaurant was called Pitár's House. I had gathered that this was Indian (it isn't Indian they speak in India, but I can't remember what it is) for father. It was sandwiched between an Italian restaurant and a Japanese restaurant, like three good books on the same shelf, all vying for attention.

We entered the restaurant and went straight to the bar. The bartender, whom I though must be Kudra, was busy with other patrons, so I looked around. Pitár's Place was moodily lit; largely dark, with red and blue spotlights on Hindu art around the walls and a small oil lamp on each table. Plants grew all over, jade plants, orchids, palms, ivies, benign breeds of cactus. Near the door was a tank with tropical fish and a small red and white lobster in it.

"Siri!" a voice sang. I looked toward Kudra. A somehow restrained smile was on her face. It did not seem quite as big as it ought to be, but seemed entirely sincere. I pursed my lips upon allowing my eyes to roam beyond her face—she was built, under that brilliant peacock-green saari, like one of those Hindu goddesses around the walls, something like a three-dimensional figure 8. It was hard to know whether I was supposed to stare in awe or look away in embarrassment. I compromised by looking exclusively at her face. I could see why Sirius had picked her.

He introduced me as "Remus, but call him Moony." I kicked him under the bar. Only the Marauders and Lia called me Moony. Kudra saw my frustration and called me Remus, moving herself a few steps up in my esteem. Sirius ordered both of us something I had never heard of, and she got it.

"Sorry about the name confusion," he muttered. "Lucky for both of us, she's smart like that."

"What did you order?" I asked. Why had I consented to this, I was not _really_ into all-night parties like Sirius was, I wasn't into them at all, and I had a dueling lesson tomorrow morning and Frank would laugh at me when he found out, I knew he would…

Happily for my sanity, Sirius knew full well that I didn't like staying up late. I knew he knew that, and berated myself for thinking he wouldn't remember. We stayed in the restaurant until nine-thirty, bantering with Kudra and the other patrons. Admittedly we left a bit drunk, and I would probably regret it in the morning, but for the first time since—Merlin, since February, I had enjoyed myself. I returned to the Order feeling very happy. It occurred to me when I arrived that I ought to have been trying to recruit Sirius, but decided that I could do it later, when my sanity was not at stake.


End file.
